


Concert Crisis

by the_echo_hole



Category: Fraggle Rock
Genre: Gen, some time before the start of the show, they're not kids but younger than season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23889478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_echo_hole/pseuds/the_echo_hole
Summary: Gobo is learning how to play the guitar and how to take a compliment.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	Concert Crisis

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is my first (published) fic ever. I've been a huge Fraggle nut for years and there's a lot more where this came from. :D

Ever since Gobo had decided to teach himself how to play the guitar, Wembley felt that his days—while already very good—had improved by a mile. For an hour or two every day, Gobo would park himself by the pond in the Great Hall with his gourd guitar and make magic happen. He’d pluck, pick, strum and experiment for every passing Fraggle, though he’d purposely chosen a spot and time with just enough foot traffic that no one could stop and pay too much attention.

While most Fraggles were content with the pleasant background noise, Wembley couldn’t help but be more interested in the beautiful music his best friend could create. Whenever he found himself out and about (and sometimes even when he didn’t have anywhere to be), he made the conscious decision to reroute his normal paths through Fraggle Rock so he could appreciate Gobo’s ever-developing skill.

On one such day, one where he had no other obligations but to enjoy life, Wembley followed his ear to Gobo and his guitar, finding his friend in his usual spot. Deep in thought and music, Gobo didn’t notice him approach.

“Hiiiii, Gobo!”

“Hi, Wembley.” Brow furrowed, Gobo didn’t look up from his fingers.

Wembley hopped up on the rock beside Gobo so as not to block the walkway—again. Safely out of the way of passing Fraggles, he closed his eyes and opened his brain to let in Gobo’s song. It was wistful and melancholy and involved quite a bit of fancy finger-work. Wembley had never heard it before.

“What’cha playin’, Gobo?”

“I dunno. Made it up.” Two notes clashed together and he grimaced before picking up the melody again.

Wembley liked it, because Gobo was playing it, but it made him feel a little funny. It didn’t seem appropriate to dance to, so Wembley compromised by bobbing his head from side to side in time.

“It’s kinda sad.”

“Yeah.” Still concentrating, Gobo let the song peter down the scale before starting up what sounded like a second verse in a slightly lower key.

“Are you sad?”

“No. I just want to hear how it sounds.”

“Ahh.” Wembley silently listened for a few moments, lost in the strange, compelling song. “Well, I think it sounds really good.”

“No it doesn’t.” Gobo stopped abruptly, throwing Wembley into a mental log jam as he adjusted to the lack of music suddenly. Facing Wembley for the first time, he held up his guitar and strummed pointedly down the strings. “Listen. It’s too tinny. Can’t you hear it? That buzzing sound?”

Wembley absolutely could not hear a single thing wrong with it. “Oh, yeah, you’re right,” he agreed regardless.

“It’s the guitar. It’s like I’m playing a jaw harp that thinks it’s a guitar. I need to make a new one. Maybe with better strings.”

Wembley knew Gobo had been using this guitar ever since he first decided to learn a few months ago. Gobo had made it himself, and it made sense that he had outgrown his training guitar, but his talent was undeniable and still shined through regardless.

“Well, any guitar sounds good when you’re playing it, Gobo!”

Gobo _hmph_ ed. “No way. I can’t even play without looking down at my hands.”

“Oh.” This… wasn’t very fun anymore. Gobo started a new song, a more familiar and danceable one, but Wembley felt a little too awkward to dance or bop along. He kicked his feet a bit and wondered why Gobo was like this.

 _Gobo, when you play guitar it’s the most beautiful sound in the world_ , he thought but didn’t say.

 _Gobo, just a few weeks ago you had not idea how to play the guitar and now you can make your own entire songs and you make everyone who listens to you happy. Or sad. If that’s what you want, you can do that too,_ he thought but didn’t say.

 _Gobo, the first song you learned, you were so proud you called us all together to your cave to show us. Why don’t you do that anymore?_ he thought but didn’t say.

Before he knew it, Gobo’s song was over. He stood up, slung his detested guitar over his back, and said “See you later, Wembley,” before hopping down and making his way out of the tunnel.

“Oh… ‘bye…” Wembley stayed on his rock, feeling a little hollow. Kicking his feet some more, he wondered for a few moments how to make himself feel better, hoping he wasn’t doomed to remain as glum as Gobo for the rest of the day.

"Hey, Wembley!”

Turning his head, he saw Gobo looking back at him, a slight, embarrassed smile on his face that Wembley could barely see from across the cave. “Thanks for listening.”

Wembley beamed back. “Well, yeah! Gobo, I love to listen to you play. Even if you buzz.”

“I know you do. I appreciate it.” Gobo’s smile grew a little wider before he turned back to the direction of his home.

Humming the sad song, but not sad enough to make him sad, Wembley set off for a new song to hear or a new friend to meet, excited to come back tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> 100% inspired by my little brother teaching himself to play guitar. Gobo's piece in my head is a less intense version of the "Last of Us" theme, which is my brother's favorite thing to play.


End file.
